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Dick closed the door to his apartment and leaned against it. He closed his eyes and let out a breath.
Finally.
It was over.
The invasion had been stopped. The Reach had left Earth. The Light were exposed. The members of the Justice League were exonerated and freed. They were back. Batman was back. He wasn't the only one. Kaldur was no longer undercover. Artemis was alive. Wally... wasn't.
Over, though. It was over.
Dick had to remember that. He was tired. Deep down in the pit of his soul, aching weariness that he couldn't shake. He wasn't sure if this feeling was as new as the undercover mission or if it went back further than he'd realized—not just to that first mission that had almost destroyed him but all the way back to losing his parents and burying that in becoming Robin.
Or maybe this was just grief. Wally was dead, and Dick was responsible for that. He had to find a way to move past it. Time off. Time to clear his head. Find his path as Nightwing and not some kid playing war games and never getting his hands dirty, letting the team do the work he preferred to do himself.
Blüdhaven was a good starting point. The town was corrupt from the mayor down, and anyone would have their hands full here. He had a few thoughts on where to start, ones he knew Bruce would hate, but Dick knew he couldn't keep doing things the way he had been.
Something had to give.
Wally was—
Dick refused to think about that.
“Well, now,” a voice said, and Dick's eyes shot open to a nightmare as he recognized the figure in front of him. He didn't think he'd fallen asleep that fast, but he had to have gone right from the Watchtower to some kind of dream. This wasn't possible. It wasn't happening. That man was still in jail, and he wasn't the Joker. He didn't have the revolving door at Arkham or Belle Reve. Even if he did, he had no way of tracking Dick all the way back here, no way of getting into his secured apartment.
He forced himself to swallow. If he pinched something, if he could wake himself up, then he could end this.
“If it isn't my little acrobat,” that voice went on, a smile spreading across the face to rival one of the Joker's but with less teeth because Dick had knocked them out and no one had given this creep dental care in prison. “What, no hello? Not even a smile for your favorite coach? I'm offended.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
It was obvious. It was clichéd and stupid of him to think otherwise. Coach's grin got wider. “I missed you. You always were my best student. Such a pity we didn't get to finish your training, but we can fix that now. We will fix that now.”
Dick wanted to deny it, wanted to make a joke or insult or any kind of response—he was Nightwing, damn it; he'd just stopped an alien invasion—but he couldn't get his mouth to form words and that twisting feeling in his stomach was telling him he was going to lose this fight even though that shouldn't be right. Shouldn't be possible, but then none of this was.
Maybe losing Wally had done it. Maybe this time Dick had really lost his mind.